


and isn't it just so pretty to think?

by whisper57



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Ian is married and in love you guys, M/M, he's also a creep but it's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisper57/pseuds/whisper57
Summary: He’s sleeping and you think he’s beautiful.or: ian pulls an edward cullen and watches mickey sleep.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 126





	and isn't it just so pretty to think?

He’s sleeping and you think he’s beautiful.

It’s early, early even for you. You woke up before the alarm that tells you to take your pills. You’d gone to sleep earlier than usual because of an especially exhausting day at work, and while the sleep was needed and welcome, you were disappointed that you had to go to bed without your husband. And there, like it always does, your heart skips a beat at the thought: _my husband._

Your _husband_ is sleeping and he looks so beautiful. You always find him beautiful, because he _is_ , but there’s something about him asleep that’s different. You could just stare and stare at the peaceful look on his face, and not even care that if he caught you, he’d call you a fucking creep. Actually, you’re pretty sure _anyone_ would call you a creep, but you don’t care. You really can’t be blamed.

You don’t think anyone has ever looked that gorgeous just sleeping.

You remember him coming to bed last night, trying to be as quiet as possible and doing his best to not move too much, just so your sleep won’t be disturbed. But it was futile really, because it’s like there’s a sensor in your body that alerts you whenever he’s close. He’d settled in on his side of the bed and wiggled back until you were close enough to feel each other’s body heat, but not enough that you’d touch. You’d shifted closer and laid your arm on his waist and he’d _finally_ settled back into your chest, and you’d finally, _actually_ relaxed even though you’d gone to bed hours ago.

You wonder how you get to have this, how you get to have nights where the person you’ve loved since you were 15 cuddles close to you, how you get to share his warmth. You wonder how you get to have mornings like these, staring at this beautiful man in the light of the morning sun and be able to think _he’s mine, he’s mine forever._

It takes your breath away that you get to have something so precious, so utterly _good_ and _perfect_.It takes your breath away because you never thought you’d get to have this. You’d dreamed about it for years, but you’d always known it was an impossible dream to achieve. Your mind had conjured fantasy after fantasy of sharing a life with this man, but it had also told you again and again that it won’t actually happen because you’re _you_ and these kinds of things don’t happen to you.

What happens to you is that you’re born in the Southside as Frank Gallagher’s bastard son. You’re Ian Gallagher and you’re the middle child and you were always the quiet, unproblematic one until you weren’t. You’re Ian Gallagher and what happens to you is that you inherit your mother’s crazy genes. You steal babies and you set vans on fire. You flush away the pills that you so desperately need and say you’re not like your mother even when everything inside your head screams _You are you are you_ are, and then you almost bash your little sister’s head in because you think the army is here to take you away. You’re Ian Gallagher and when you’re mad, people don’t ask _what’s wrong?,_ they ask _did you take your pills, Ian?_

What happens to you is that you dance in gold booty shorts in gay clubs when you’re only 17. Old, married men happen to you. Nights that are a black hole in your memory and foreign hands that you don’t want on your body happen to you.

Cheating assholes happen to you. Guys who tell you to get over the trauma caused by your absent mother happen to you.

You’re Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich doesn’t happen to you.

Mickey Milkovich with all his selfless, never-ending love doesn’t happen to you. Mickey Milkovich and his endless patience and care don’t happen to you. Mickey Milkovich and his loyalty and kindness don’t happen to you. Mickey Milkovich and all the passion and emotion that encompass his entire being don’t happen to you.

Blue, blue eyes and soft pink lips and pale skin and pretty noses and expressive eyebrows don’t happen to you. Tattooed knuckles and gentle—so, _so_ gentle—hands that touch your body like _you’re_ something precious and worth protecting—worth being reverent to—don’t happen to you.

And you think that maybe that’s why you find the sight of him sleeping so mesmerising: the sight of someone that contains so _much_ within them, to be so still and quiet. It’s mesmerising to watch a face that carries so many expressions and so many feelings, even in the slight twitch of an eyebrow, to be completely cleared away from all of that, only to be replaced with what can only be described as peace.

It’s mesmerising and beautiful and incredible to watch Mickey Milkovich—brave, _brave_ Mickey Milkovich, who takes on the world whenever he’s awake like it’s nothing—asleep, and to be trusted enough to see him so vulnerable. And what makes it all better, is that it’s just a sight that you get to witness, because you’re _husbands_ now and you get to have this forever.

Mickey Milkovich is good and perfect and you’re Ian Gallagher and you’re anything but, so you don’t get how he happened to you. But he _did_ and he’s here and he loves you and he’s wearing your ring. He wears the ring that tells the world that he’s _yours_ and you didn’t know you could be this happy, but somehow, miraculously, _you are._

It frightens you like nothing else that you may somehow lose this. That someday, you’ll fuck up and it’ll all end and you’ll be a part of all those numbers that you told Debbie about, that tell everyone that _All Marriages Are Doomed To Fail._ It scares you because you’ve never seen anyone around you have something like this, to have something like this and be able to keep it. It scares you because you don’t understand how you could be special enough to be the exception to the rule.

It terrifies you, and you think you may never get to the point where you won’t be, but you regret nothing at all since getting on that knee and _of course I’ll marry you._

You’re scared but you get to have _this_. You get to watch him sleeping in your arms, and you get to cuddle, kiss and touch him whenever you want. You get to watch him be a part of your family and watch him love your brothers and sisters like they’re his own and watch them love him back. You get to come home to the sight of him playing with your niece, and you get to watch him cradle your nephew to his chest so that he’ll fall asleep. You get to watch him in your kitchen and you get to wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss him and kiss him and you get to smell him whenever you want to, and you get to hear him say _fuckin’ weirdo_ with all the love and fondness in the world in his voice. You get to hear him say _I love you_ and you get to kiss him before going to work. You get to argue with him about silly things and you get to have mind-blowing sex with him and you get to watch movies on the couch together and brush your teeth together while grinning in the mirror at each other.

You get to have perfectly simple things that make you happy to be alive and you get to feel that _content_ feeling in your chest everyday.

So yeah, you’re scared, but you barely think about it because you’re just so happy, too. Some days, you don’t think about the fear at all.

You’re Ian Gallagher and you have something amazing with you and you’re going to keep it, and fight to keep it, for as long as possible, even if your mind tells you that you may not deserve it.

He opens his eyes slowly and blinks a few times, and when he catches you staring at him, he smiles this affectionally exasperated smile, and says in his sleep-rough voice,

“Hey.”

Your heart skips a beat and you say _Hey yourself_ and then lean in to kiss him.


End file.
